


mata ne

by Khafushun



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Banter, Blowfish, Bros having a good time, HollyCon, Japan, M/M, Masturbation, Or flirting, Pining, Some angst, Tokyo (City), but actually not as angsty as the summary makes it sound, your choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khafushun/pseuds/Khafushun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a reunion nearly three years in the making, and Aidan is ecstatic to finally arrive in Tokyo and spend the weekend with Dean. But underneath his exuberant exterior, Aidan can't help but remember the way things used to be between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mata ne

 Chapter 1

 

It's a moment nearly three years in the making, and Aidan's all too aware of it. He jogs inside the hotel lobby, nearly vibrating as he searches for a certain familiar face. He's not exactly sure _why_ he thinks Dean would be waiting in the lobby for him – most people would probably have better things to do – but he finds himself looking around anyway. Call it wishful thinking. Or, perhaps, a hunch.

It turns out that Dean spots him before Aidan manages it himself, waving him over with an exaggerated flourish of his hand. He's sitting on a plush chair and wearing grey shorts, his face relaxed despite the long flight over. Aidan feels his heart skip a beat. (From _excitement,_ he tells himself firmly. Excitement from seeing his _friend_ again – and not just that peek at his pale inner thigh...)

The sound of Dean laughing breaks him from that train of thought. “What happened to the beard, mate? You had a good thing going.”

Aidan grins; someone's apparently been paying attention to his selfies, and a burst of warmth spreads throughout his chest. “Had to get rid of it. We're getting paid to take pictures, aren't we? Gotta look my best.”

“Mm-hm, I'm sure that's it.” Dean gives him a sly look. “Looking to score this weekend, huh?”

Aidan nearly chokes and tries to cover it with a cough. How the hell has Dean seen through him already?! Well, not exactly seen _through_ him – he has no expectations about this weekend, none at all – but it would be a lie to say he hasn't wondered if Dean would prefer a more trimmed look. Well, okay, Dean and the fans both: they're here for a Hobbit convention, after all, and he'd thought a more "Kíli" look might be in order. But if Dean happens to recall some of the nights they'd spent, erm, _role-playing..._ well, so much the better.

But the physical component has only ever been one aspect of their relationship, and if it never happens again, well, Aidan's fine with it. Mostly fine with it. Above all, he's just happy to be on the same continent as Dean again, and when he smiles at him, it's genuine.

But Aidan hasn't forgotten Dean's earlier comment, and to show his appreciation (or lack thereof), he leans over and punches his friend on the shoulder. “Score?” he repeats. “With _who?_ Last I checked, I was stuck with _your_ sorry arse for the next – how many days are we here again?”

Dean grins and leans back in his chair. “Don't see why _my_ presence should stop you if you're determined enough. Tokyo's a big city. You're a good looking guy. Plenty of fish and all that.”

“Hmmm, guess we'll see.”

Under different circumstances, Aidan might feel frustrated with Dean's attempts to rile him. Perhaps he'd think a little harder about that statement, too – try to figure out what Dean's _really_ trying to say. But as it is, Aidan's over the moon, and _nothing_ will ruin this moment for him. He stifles another burst of laughter and pulls Dean up from his seat, immediately wrapping his arms around him. “I know it's only been a few months, but I barely got to _see_ you in LA. How've you been?”

“Hot. Didn't know Japan was so humid.”

“Seriously? I ask after your well-being, and this is how you respond?” Aidan pulls back to give Dean a disapproving look. “How's _life?”_

Dean shrugs as best he can with Aidan's hands still on his shoulders. “Could be worse. Tokyo's not a bad place to spend a weekend, after all.” He's smiling a bit as he says it, perhaps because he knows that's still not what Aidan wants to hear.

Predictably, Aidan's brow lowers. “All right, I see how it is. Just for that you're buying me dinner, and we're going for blowfish. People have _died_ eating that, you know. And I hope you're one of the unlucky ones, ya fecking bastard.”

“Gee, missed you too, Aidan.”

“Too little, too late.” But inwardly, Aidan's pleased to finally hear Dean say it.

 

* * *

 

They head out after the interview they're scheduled for, even though it's late and Aidan can already tell Dean is shattered. Japan is only three hours behind New Zealand, but Aidan supposes it must be enough to make a difference. Well, that, and Dean's pretty old. Probably has a bedtime of eight o'clock, the dry shite.

The convention staff are able to get them a last minute restaurant reservation, despite it being a Friday night in the middle of the most populated city in the world. Dean invites Sala to come along with them, but he turns them down, citing the early morning they're set to have the next day. (Privately, Aidan suspects Sala knows he'd be a third-wheel. And while it's entirely true, Aidan still hopes he hasn't been too obvious about it.)

Tokyo is a gorgeous city, or at least Aidan thinks it might be – it's also just as crowded as everyone says it is, and he spends so much time weaving through the masses of people and trying to keep track of Dean that he barely notices the flashing neon lights. Or, perhaps, he's just not in the right part of Tokyo to see the best of them.

The blowfish, or _fugu_ , once they finally manage to order, comes raw and thinly sliced, nearly translucent, spread out like flower petals over an ornate platter. Aidan grins and picks up a piece with his chopsticks. The fact that a single blowfish contains enough toxins to kill at least thirty men isn't far from his mind as he brings the fish closer to his lips. He just has to hope that this one has been properly cleared of all that. _Sashimi roulette,_ he thinks giddily, and looks over at his dining companion.

“Cheers, Deano! May we live to see tomorrow.”

Dean merely grunts and takes a swig of his Asahi Super Dry. “You know you're more likely to die from choking on that, than from any actual toxins left in it, right?”

“But there's still a _chance_ I could _._ That's what makes this exciting. _”_ Aidan dips the white fish into the thin dipping sauce provided. “For someone so sure about the odds, I can't help but notice you aren't trying it.” He gestures toward the plate with his hand. “Come on, live on the edge a bit.”

Dean grunts again, though this time it might have been suppressed laughter. “No, I think I'll leave that to you.” He grins widely. “If you die, then it's up to me to be there for all the fans tomorrow.”

“So noble.” Aidan raises his chopsticks at last. He chews on it for a moment.

“Well?”

Aidan grimaces, still eating. Blowfish, it turns out, is rather chewy. “It doesn't taste like anything.” He swallows then and his eyes grow wide. “Ah, but my lips have gone numb.”

“Yeah, _sure_ they have."

“No, really.” Aidan takes a pull from his own beer now, his lips very much tingling. He sighs; life is such a fleeting thing. He puts his chopsticks down, perhaps for the last time. “And so it begins.”

Dean pushes the _fugu_ platter toward him. “Well, eat up before you croak, Turner, because this isn't cheap. I want my money's worth.”

“Nah, if you really aren't going to eat any, I'll cover it.” Aidan breaks himself from his reverie, sure that he isn't _really_ dying, and reaches forward to pick up another piece. “You really should give this a try, though. It tastes like nothing, but the other effects... _Ooh_ , this is fucking wild. Now my tongue's gone numb.”

Dean's brow furrows. “You're serious? Are you sure that's... normal?”

Aidan's tempted to ham it up a bit, see just how worried Dean might get. Maybe he'd even try to give him CPR, and wouldn't _that_ be a treat. But in the end, Aidan decides to go with the truth: “Yeah, it's normal. I read up on it before: a bit of tingling in the lips is fine.” He gestures to the plate between them. “Go on, you're in Japan! Try it!”

Finally, Dean reaches out to take a piece for himself. He pulls a face almost immediately. “You really weren't kidding. Why the hell is this considered a delicacy?”

“Probably the work that goes into preparing it. At least the sauce is good.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, dipping another piece into the citrusy soy sauce that accompanies their meal. “I suppose that alone makes it worth it.”

They leave shortly after that. Aidan is wide awake, still on UK time and high on the feeling of having Dean back with him again, even if it's only for a weekend and some change. He wants to keep Dean out with him all night, visit some Japanese pubs, maybe one of those crazy clubs he's read about online, but he knows that's not the best idea. Not when they've got a full day ahead.

They part ways once they make it to their floor at the hotel – they have separate rooms, of course, but it turns out they're staying right next to each other. Aidan grins and bids Dean goodnight, vowing to watch television so loud that it'll keep him awake until morning. Dean snorts and throws the two-fingered salute before shutting the door behind him.

With a sigh, Aidan opens the door to his own room. It's a grand hotel they're staying at, with rooms larger than Aidan would have expected in downtown Tokyo, though the décor is perhaps a few decades out of date. Nothing futuristic, and sadly, no robots, though Aidan is still delighted that the toilets have _options_ here. He nearly texts Dean about it, before realizing that a loo selfie might be slightly weird even for them.

So Aidan takes off his boots and sits on the bed. There's not much of interest on the telly – a few English-language stations, but nothing he wants to watch. He shuts it off and thinks about who he has next door, a small grin on his face. He recalls the joke he'd made on the way back to their hotel room, not even an hour before, wondering if it were possible to eat enough _fugu_ for his throat to go numb, too. Leering, he'd then wagered that with a numb throat, he'd finally be able to swallow Dean's cock all the way. Last time he'd tried deep throating, he still hadn't managed it, the act ending in choking, spluttering defeat.

To Aidan's delight, Dean hadn't acted offended, just laughed – same as he would have back when they'd been filming in New Zealand, back before distance had forced them to grow apart, before Dean had gotten married. No, Dean had just laughed, and told him it was too bad they'd never find out. Aidan's not quite sure what to make of that, now. Did it mean that he would have been open to it, or was it a gentle warning not to try his luck?

Absentmindedly, he rubs his hand along the softened bulge in his jeans, the movement – and his recollection of the last time he and Dean fucked – quickly bringing him to full arousal. With a groan he unzips his jeans and pulls them off with a jerk, his right hand slipping below the waistband of his boxer briefs. He tries to picture it, him on his knees before Dean, taking that lovely cock of his in his mouth, taking it so far back that he can bury his nose in the dark golden curls at its base. He's good at giving head, and he _loves_ doing it, but he's always wanted to go that extra step, open his throat and be that perfect little slut for Dean. Aidan curses, and pulls his hand off with a jerk. Damn gag reflexes.

With that thought, Aidan snaps himself back to reality, still hard and unsatisfied. This is just sad. He came here to see his _friend,_ not try to get back together with an ex-lover. He's never had any delusions that things would go back to the way they used to be between them. So why is he _doing_ this?

Frustrated, he slams a hand against the wall, just hard enough to make an audible _thump_. Belatedly, he realizes that he's hit the wall he shares with Dean, and before he can think better of it, he pounds on it a second time, a third, a fourth.

“ _What?!”_ He can just make out Dean's voice, muffled and irate, from the other side.

“Just seeing if you're asleep yet, Deano!”

“ _Go the fuck to sleep, Turner!”_

Aidan has always loved it when Dean gets angry, his voice going up that extra octave. But before he can ponder the thought any further, his phone buzzes. A series of disgruntled texts from Dean are waiting for him on the lock screen:

 

_[ You think you're so funny don't you ]_

_[ Better watch your back tomorrow ]_

_[ Your arse is MINE ]_

 

Aidan sighs fondly, and fails entirely from keeping the wistful grin from spreading across his face. _Ah, if only,_ he thinks, then muses that Dean will most likely regret his choice of phrase in the morning.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's potentially a second part to this, but let me know if you want it! Not trying to bribe you into leaving comments, haha, it's just that I have like a million Fili/Kili fics that I should be writing instead, so I just want to know if there's interest here. Hope you enjoyed!


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